


Meat

by TheDragonAndTheHare



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Rape, Murder Family, No actual depictions of rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:08:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4761065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDragonAndTheHare/pseuds/TheDragonAndTheHare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"“But I want you to know,” Abigail says calmly, “I don’t think of what I’m going to do as murder. I’m doing the world a service. Because there are bad people in the world, people like you, and if I can do something about it, I will. There’s only one good thing you can do for the world now, after causing so much pain, and horror, and trauma.”</p><p>She leans up, takes the man by the back of the head, and pulls it down to speak in his ear. She tucks in her knife against his neck, and fingers the bone handle.</p><p>“You can feed it.”"</p><p>A little look into the life of Abigail on the first time she has to bring home the meat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meat

It’s Friday morning. Abigail begins to wake around 6AM, but not quite yet, the sound of the shower running just making its way into her dream. She’ll wake up properly at 7AM, when her father, Will, has already dressed and left for work. 

At 6.30AM, she vaguely registers Hannibal, her other father, padding down the stairs to the kitchen to turn on the espresso machine. Abigail, eyes still closed, pictures him in his dressing gown. It would make her laugh if she was so inclined, because it seems so odd to see him without a suit. She settles for a smile instead. By the time she gets up and ready, Hannibal will be in his usual suit, wrinkle free and impeccable as always.

At 7AM her alarm goes off, and Abigail takes a moment to stretch and yawn. She gets up; swinging her legs off the bed, and treads quietly to her en suite. She has a quick shower, taking care not to get her hair wet; after a few minutes she steps out, and begins brushing her teeth while she contemplates what to do with her hair today.

As Abigail runs her comb through her hair, taking care to be gentle in untangling the knots, she thinks about one of her friends, May. She can’t brush her curly, frizzy hair without turning into Einstein. Sometimes Abigail wishes her hair had a bit more life to it, but then again, it doesn’t need a lot of coercion in order to cooperate. Once her hair is knot-free, she pulls it all over one shoulder and braids it.

Abigail goes to a private school in the city, the uniform for which hangs on the back of her door. She quickly puts it on as she feels her stomach rumbling. 

She would be putting make-up on if she was allowed, but one of the few rules Hannibal has always insisted on was ‘no make-up to school’. When she was thirteen and seeing her friends come to school with their faces made up nicely with lip-gloss, and later with blush and foundation and mascara and eyeliner and eye shadow, she was envious that she couldn’t do the same. She tried to rebel at first, but Hannibal could always tell, and would be promptly disciplined with extra chores for a week. She’s seventeen now, and respects the rule well enough. She can do up her face however she likes when spends time with her friends outside of school.

Just about ready for the day, she leaves her bathroom, quickly putting on a pair of socks and her shoes before heading downstairs.

Abigail finds Hannibal in the kitchen, hovering over the stove, a bowl on one side and a plate with a small stack of fresh pancakes on the other. A departure from the usual healthy breakfasts Hannibal usually prepares, but she sees the bowl of fresh fruit on the counter, sitting beside a small glass jug of maple syrup.

“Good morning,” she says, opening the fridge to grab the orange juice.

“Good morning, Abigail,” Hannibal replies, flipping a pancake. “I trust that you slept well.”

Abigail nods as she gets a glass from the cupboard. “I had a dream that a man stabbed me in the neck,” she says quite casually.

“Did you now?”

“Mmhmm,” she hums she takes a sip of juice.

“Who was this man?”

“Well, in the dream, the man was my father.”

“Oh. That’s not a very kind thing for a parent to do to their child.”

“But then you and Dad showed up. He shot the man and you stopped the bleeding in my neck.”

“How very heroic of us.”

Abigail smiled as she took out a couple plates and some cutlery to set on the island. “It was,” she commended. She leaned against the kitchen counter as Hannibal took out the last pancake.

“Did you complete your homework last night?” Hannibal asks once they are finally sitting down and eating.

“I did, Dad, yes,” Abigail said, cutting into her pancakes. “These are good, thank you,” she says, as she tastes them.

“And you remember that it is your turn to bring home the meat tonight?”

Abigail pauses in her eating, briefly losing her appetite. She nods, “I know,” and resumes her meal before her father realizes she hesitated.

“Are you prepared?”

Abigail nods.

“Good. Would you like me to drive you school today?”

Abigail shook her head. “No, that’s alright. Marissa is picking me up at quarter past.”

“Very well. I’m not taking any patients after 4PM, if you require help.”

Abigail thinks for a moment. She’s been learning Tae Kwon Do and Judo for years, as well as the hunting skills that Will has taught her. She may not look it, but she has strength, and is quick on her feet. She doesn’t doubt her skills. But she’s still nervous. This will be her first time bringing home the meat.

“Can you be there? Just in case?”

“Of course,” Hannibal says. “Just in case. Do you have enough money for your lunch?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be off, then. Don’t forget to turn on the dishwasher before you leave, and-“

“And the lock the door, I know. Have a good day at work, Dad.”

“And you have a good day at school, my dear,” Hannibal said, giving her a kiss on the forehead before placing his used plate and cutlery into the dishwasher.

Abigail listens for the sound of the door closing before she finishes her pancakes and has a bit of fruit. She’s just putting her dishes into the dishwasher when she hears the sound of a car horn out front. She fishes her phone from her pocket and gives Marissa a ring.

“I’ll be out in a moment, just got to turn the dishwasher on.”

“Righto.”

*~.~*

As she’s dragging the struggling, bound man through the house, his leg kicks a table that her father Will had decorated with pictures, and one falls to the ground. When Abigail goes to pick it up later, and looks past the cracked glass to the picture below, she sees it’s the one of her and her fathers in the park, when she just was eight years old, both of them hugging the life out of her. All of them had the biggest grins on their faces.

She takes care when she puts the picture in a new frame later.

Hannibal watches over her as she continues to pull the man through the house, towards the basement. Both of them are dressed in matching plastic suits, which do look quite silly, but are practical, even if they do make getting a grip difficult.

The man continues making noises, but his mouth has been duct taped over, so not much noise is able to escape. A burlap sack covers his head, so he’s unable to see where he is. The bottoms of his jeans are dark red and damp from the cuts Abigail made to sever his Achilles tendons. Any attempts to escape would be greatly hindered.

Abigail manages to get the man down to the basement without much assistance from Hannibal, but does with stringing him up. Before she takes the bag off his head, she grabs a knife from a nearby table, and holds it up to his neck, just to allow him to feel the sharp edge against his skin.

And then she whips the bag from his head, finally looks into the man’s terrified eyes.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Abigail asks, dragging the knife up and down the neck, underneath an eye.

The man tries to pull his head back, but he can’t pull it far. He gives a minute shake of his head, doing his best to not cut himself from the knife pressed close.

“You’re a bad man,” she says.

The man makes a noise, and shakes his head again.

“You are,” she reiterates. “You know my friend. May.”

The man, behind his duct tape, makes a sound along the lines of: “May?”

“You ignored her when she said no. I held her later as she cried,” she nicks the skin of his cheek, a small dribble of blood leaking out. “And then she told me who did it – who raped her: a friend of her father’s. I promised her that she would get justice.”

She presses the knife to his throat his throat once more. “I’m going to take this tape off, just for a moment. If you scream, it will be the last sound you make. And the last sound you will hear will be the sound of your blood hitting the floor. Do you understand?”

The man gives a weak nod.

Abigail pulls off the duct tape slowly, pointedly pressing the knife into the skin, and makes sure he feels every hair being pulled at, leaving one corner still attached. She senses her father behind him, just standing there, watching.

“How many other people have you raped?”

The man takes a moment to answer as he tries to control his crying.

“What did you say?” Abigail asked, hearing the man’s mumble.

“Three,” he says a little louder. “Three girls.”

Abigail swipes the tape back over his mouth. “Thank you,” she says. “You’re going to die anyway.”

The man begins to struggle again, pulling his arms against the ropes tying him up, screams against the tape.

“But I want you to know,” Abigail says calmly, ignoring the signs of distress, “I don’t think of what I’m going to do as murder. I’m doing the world a service. Because there are bad people in the world, people like _you_ , and if I can do something about it, then I will. There’s only one good thing you can do for the world now, after causing so much pain, and horror, and trauma.”

She leans up, takes the man by the back of the head, and pulls it down to speak in his ear. He’s shaking underneath her hand, his breathing laboured, and his pupils are wide. She tucks in her knife against his neck, and fingers the bone handle.

“You can feed it.”

No one outside of her family knows about their unusual diet. She is very well aware of the fact that if anyone was to find out, all hell would break lose. She would be separated from her fathers, the two people in the world in the world that she loves most. They would be locked up, for either life or to await the death penalty. 

Abigail is just seventeen – her mental health would be questioned, people would say she had been brainwashed, that she’s been conditioned to think this way. But Abigail is of sound mind - she knows exactly what she’s doing.


End file.
